


Reason

by capitalnineteen



Category: Elementary (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:29:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalnineteen/pseuds/capitalnineteen





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Little Night Music](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250392) by [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/pseuds/PhoenixFalls). 



They’d been dating a few months but with their schedules that only meant three dates. Joan liked him - liked him a lot if she were honest - but in her head she was lining up the reasons to end it.

 He’s too young.

That would be one of the reasons. They hadn’t discussed it but she was estimating fifteen years’ difference: roughly half of his life and a third of hers. If she were a male movie star, that wouldn’t even cause people to blink. Being neither male nor movie star, she felt it being noticed. The age didn’t bother her as much as that attention.

They were both too busy.

That was another good, sturdy reason. She spent so much of her time in the hospital, she knew it better than her own apartment. He’d admitted on their second date that more of his meals came from the police station vending machine than his own kitchen. Down time was at a premium for them both, and someone had to be exceedingly special to claim it. It was easier to focus on career than relationship. Infinitely simpler to track the progression and ascension of the career, too.

 But Joan was drawing a blank on a third reason to end things. She’d tried to convince herself that the first two were such good reasons a third wasn’t needed. But that niggling voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her that her tendency to cut and run was why she’d come up with the three-reason rule in the first place.

So with only two reasons she forced herself to respond to his “Are you free New Year’s Eve?” text with, “I am, actually. Have something in mind?”  


A last-minute work emergency - hers, this time - would keep them from making their dinner reservations. ( _Could that qualify as a third reason_ , Joan wondered, _the way their jobs meant dinner reservations were nearly impossible to keep?_ She had to admit it was more a sub-reason for number two, though.)

 She paused long enough on her way to the OR to text him that something had come up. The dots indicating that he was typing appeared, and she waited instead of closing her phone and considering their plans cancelled. ( _That’s why you don’t have a third reason_ , that irritating voice in her head pointed out. _You_ _LIKE_ _him_.)

“I’ll see you when you’re done,” appeared on her screen. “Third floor waiting room? I’ll catch up on my outdated celebrity gossip.”

She was a little annoyed, but mostly thankful, that she’d picked up her dress from the dry cleaner on the way to work and had no good reason to back out. Joan’s mouth twitched, a war of muscles competing to form both a frown and a smile. “Sounds good,” she quickly typed out.

When she slid the phone back into her pocket, she pushed the date and her search for a third reason out of her mind.

 “Doctor mode,” her brother had once teased her, as if her ability to push everything aside and focus on the problem at hand hadn’t predated medical school. ( _Push aside your own life to deal with everyone else’s problems_ , that other part of her piped up. She shoved that thought into the post-surgery waiting area of her brain as well.)

Two hours later, she’d changed and suffered the hoots of her colleagues for her efforts. They were settling in for pizza and she was heading out in weather-inappropriate clothing for… well, she wasn’t sure. At this point they’d probably be settling for takeout, too.

  _Should have cancelled, should have cancelled_ , she chanted silently to herself. Each repetition was punctuated by the sound of her heels as she strode down the hall to the waiting room. But then she rounded the corner and saw him standing at the vending machine. His charcoal coat hung from his arm, and his Egyptian blue shirt looked disturbingly unrumpled. She could find no third reason in their appearance; their outfits complemented each other well. Her dress was varying shades of silver and grey accented by thin lines in a blue a shade or two darker than his shirt.The brown leather messenger bag slung across her body was the only thing that didn’t belong. It had to do, though. The pewter clutch she’d planned to use was at her apartment.

“Marcus?” she said as she approached. He turned and a smile took over his face as he saw her.

“Perfect timing,” he said, closing the distance between them to kiss her cheek. (The part of her still looking for a third reason made note of the cheek kiss, but that other part of her dismissed the possibility. The kiss wasn’t awkward at all, it was sweet. No point awarded to either side.)

“You saved me from finding out what E-3 was,” he continued.

“E-3?” Joan asked, then laughed as she followed his glance back towards the vending machine. “Ah, yes, it’s been busy. Takes a toll on the snack supply.”

They fell into step together wordlessly as they made their way to the elevator. “Well, we’ve missed our reservations again, but if you’re interested there’s a party we could still make.”

“Friends, work, or other?” Joan asked. They faced each other as they waited for the elevator. She watched him put on his coat and again had to admire his style. ( _And other aspects of his appearance as well_ , that voice reminded her.)

He adjusted his collar as he responded. “A bit of all three. Friends from work and probably some of the other.” That smile returned, spreading across his handsome face, his warm brown skin crinkling around his eyes. She could feel her own mouth mirroring it in a small way. Third reasons were even further away while facing him. “I think you’ll like it,” he added. “They’re an interesting crowd.” He glanced at his watch. “I think we can make it before the ball drops.”

They climbed the steps of the brownstone as the last few moments of the year wound down. Being New Year’s Eve, they’d had to walk a bit more, of course. But it was unseasonably warm and their conversation was comfortable and distracting, so Joan didn’t mind.

A statuesque blonde in a crisply tailored blouse the color of honey answered the door. “Marcus!” she greeted warmly, “Everyone will be so glad you made it!” She nodded to Joan. “Welcome, dear, please come in,” she said as she pulled the door wide for them.

Marcus took her coat and purse and hung them with his coat. “Joan Watson, Ms. Hudson,” he nodded to each of them as he made the introduction.

The two women shook hands. “Your dress is lovely,” Ms. Hudson told her, her tone kind. Joan thanked her, feeling instantly at ease thanks to her gracious demeanor.. Ms. Hudson turned, leading them further into the house. “Everyone is this way, mostly.”

Whoever’s home this was, it was filled with unusual items. A panel of metal gridwork leaned against a wall, hundreds of padlocks hanging in the open squares. There were more sizes and colors and styles than Joan had ever considered might exist.

Marcus pointed out people as they wound through the rooms filled with guests. “The man currently channeling McCartney by the piano is my captain,” he informed her.

Joan smiled. “Not the worst Beatles cover I’ve heard.”

“No, he’s not bad,” he laughed as he raised a hand in response to the older man’s nod of greeting. If the man’s singing hadn’t indicated the fact enough, the ruddiness on his cheeks visible even across the room told Joan his celebrations had included more than fruit punch.

The group gathered around the piano joined in as they reached the chorus, their increased volume temporarily drowning out conversations as they repeated _we’re on our way home_.

Marcus and Joan continued making their way around the gathering. Marcus gave names and quick biographies for the people he recognized as they went. Given his job, she wasn’t exactly surprised by the information he shared, but she couldn’t help contrasting how a gathering of her own acquaintances would be summed up: medical specialty or the year they met in college. A marked difference from the variety of lives here.

The group at the piano went silent as someone called out “IT’S ALMOST TIME!”

A ragged countdown started, the disparate voices unifying as they reached the numbers counting away the last of the year.

“Three! Two!” Joan found herself calling out along with everyone. “One!”

She and Marcus turned to each other and all the awkwardness that had eluded them suddenly descended at once. Finally they both laughed self-consciously and kissed briefly. The warmth of his mouth against hers was there and gone again so quickly she couldn’t process it. Both of the arguing sides inside her were quiet, no third reason or refusal to entertain one.

With that internal voice quiet for the moment, Joan threw herself into enjoying the evening. An hour passed and then another. As the party went on it became more quiet, the gathering more intimate than it had been when they entered. The piano was silent, replaced by low music filtering through speakers set up beside a computer.

She’d had an entertaining argument about the history of blood typing with a pale, rumpled man with an English accent and a red scarf tied at his throat. Another man, his ebony face shadowed by his tilted baseball cap, had noticed her interested consideration of the padlock display and offered to show her the basics of lockpicking. Ms. Hudson had given her a warm mug of something delicious and entertained her with a story about ancient Greek celebrations.

The hours wound away until Marcus caught her eye and lifted an eyebrow at her, tilting his head towards the exit. She nodded, suddenly aware of the exhaustion that had been creeping over her.

They gave their goodbyes to those who remained. The English man followed them out of the room.

“Ms. Watson,” he said, offering her a business card, “If you are interested I could show you that book I mentioned. You did make some valid points,” he admitted, his face indicating that it wasn’t an allowance he’d had to make often. “I’d appreciate someone with your knowledge looking over something I’ve been researching.” He cleared his throat and straightened as she took the card, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels, adding, “If you’ve the interest, of course.” He gave her a nod and returned to the gathering before she could respond.

“And that’s Sherlock Holmes,” Marcus informed her with a laugh. “I think he just invited you to be one of his irregulars.”

“His _what?_ ” Joan asked, looking from the card to where the person who’d given it to her had disappeared.

“Irregulars. It’s just what he calls the people he relies on for information he hasn’t already mastered.” Marcus explained, helping her with her coat. “He’s a consultant we use sometimes.”

Joan nodded and slipped the card into her pocket. They made their way out into the chill of pre-dawn January. They walked in comfortable silence to where he’d parked.

“I had fun,” Joan said, surprising herself. “They seem like an interesting group of people to know. Thank you for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome,” Marcus answered, “I knew you’d fit right in.”


End file.
